I pour two cups of tea and take them out. He’s already recliningon the stairs. I hand him one and sit on the stair below his with mine between my hands.
“Nice work, putting it all back together,” he says, without preamble.
“Your blasted birds were a real pain to collect,” I say, though we can both hear how little true animosity there is in my voice.
“Cute, aren’t they? I’m only sorry you wouldn’t let them flutter about last night during your elaborate mating ritual. I think the queen might have really taken against them.”
I sigh. “The Astebani like big windows and open air,” I say.
“That explains why they’ve taken over the courtyard at the inn,” Bash says. “You’ll be delighted to know Georgelle’s already hung their new sign, by the way. The Inn of the Seven Princes. I think she and Patience had them painted in advance, hoping all seven would show up eventually. There’s no way they could have changed them over so fast otherwise.”
“At least that’s an end to them,” I say, rolling my cup between my hands.
“I meant to ask,” he says. “Who’sourprince of the realm, and why haven’t they kissed you?”
“My sister,” I say. “And I’m sure my parents—and more important, Honey—know that there’s no way that kissing her would unlock my heart’s desire. She wouldn’t do it anyway. She’d tell me I’m a pure pink idiot for getting cursed in the first place and that I deserve to spend my life locked up in a bookstore.” She had, in fact, sent me a brief letter containing exactly those sentiments and nothing more, not long after I was cursed.
“Isn’t she the one who got drunk on kitchen rum at age twelve?” he says, sounding mildly outraged.
I smiled. “I told you that one, did I? Anyway, she was sixteen. I was twelve.”
He subsides. “She sounds like she’s got a lot of vinegar, for a princess. Hard to imagine the two of you are cut from the same sailcloth, so to speak.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I sigh and get up and open it. Amaritha and Sasha, done with school and looking for a place to hang out. They grin at me and then dash up the stairs, Bash pulling his legs out of the way as they pass.
I pour us both another cup of tea and then sit back down on the stair below his.
“Your sister,” he prompts.
“We’re not very much alike,” I say. I lean back against the banister and stretch my legs out, so we’re facing each other. Though he’s too tall to stretch his legs out along his step. I try not to eye his thighs; it’s undignified to think about someone’s legs, no matter how close they are and how many muscles are not left to the imagination.
“What would she have done, if she’d been cursed to stay in a bookstore until she’d unlocked her heart’s desire?”
I smile. “To begin with, she’d never have gotten cursed to stay here in the first place. She’s not much of a reader. But the curse wouldn’t have worked on her anyway, I suppose. She’s always known what she wants. I think, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I…I didn’t. I don’t. I still don’t, or else I wouldn’t be cursed anymore.”
He’s silent for a moment. “What did you think you wanted? Before all this?”
I set my teacup aside and close my eyes, and breathe in the deep mystery of the sea. “I wanted to make everyone happy,” I finally say.
I hear him shift and open my eyes; he’s moving, and I swing my legs aside, so he can sit beside me. I can feel the heat of him, he’s so close. “What do you want now?” he says, very gently.
“What doyouwant?”
“Nope. No redirection. Tell me what you want now. After all this.”
“I want…to see the new sign outside,” I say. “I want to see my shop windows from the front. I want to buy a cinnamon roll from Mrs. Mangigony when they’re just out of the oven, and eat it outside her shop even though it’s still too hot, so it burns my tongue.” This, according to Sasha, is one of life’s chief pleasures.I want to kiss a man who smells like the sea, even though it’s a thousand miles away, my mind whispers.I want to stay here, on this step, forever.
Our legs are touching; I look down at them and wonder, again, how a man who sleeps in a barn can be so astonishingly free of hay.
“What do you want?” I ask his leg, not quite able to look him in the face.
He takes my hand, and he’s warm, and I can feel the calluses on his fingers and his palms. With his other hand, he tips my chin up, so our gazes are forced to meet, and though I feel like a thousand horses are running riot through my veins, I can’t look away.
“I’m pretty sure you know what I want,” he murmurs, and his eyes are like deep, dark pools; the light of the full moon spilling across the sea on a still night.
“Yes,” I say, swallowing hard, “but you have to speak the words; that’s how the magic works.”
“You have toact; that’s how the magic works,” he says, close enough now that I can feel his breath on my lips.
